To my Lord Arch-Bishops of CANTERBURY, Upon His Famous Erection, The THEATER in OXFORD.  
MY LORD,  

OUR English Stories blush not to present  
A generous Wast, a Brave Demolishment,  
And Fame herself commends it to our hands,  
Twenty six Towns stood, where New Forest stands,  
But this Renown You ever will enjoy,  
You Build more, than the Conqueror did Destroy.   

While the wide World endures, We must confess  
Sinai, a Venerable Wilderness.  
Let then no vile Detraction dare to 'bate,  
Where Kings Magnificently Depopulate.  
Whether those Towns were large, or th'Tenements poor,  
With their Walls Loam, Tile, Thatch, & Earth the Floor,  
What Orchards, Gardens, Pasture-grounds lay to't,  
What Arable, let Chronologers compute;  
Expired Ages their own Downfals grieve,  
You build the Envy of the Age You live.  
Egypt, in elder times the World did fill,  
With Trophies of her Structures, and her Skill;  
But most admired Prelate! You impart  
Piles 'bove her Pyramids, Scienc's 'bove her Art.   

Though thy deep-Learned self, decry the powers  
Of meaner Foils, and Set-offs from thy Towers,  
Yet do thy Fabrics so exceed belief,  
Thou art Great, though those mean-Glories were thy chief.   

What bold Erection starts not to appear,  
In competition with Thy Theatre?   

Pompey's great Structure much admired stood,  
Yet mingled was 'twixt Excellent, and Good;  
Though its perfection some in vain Protect,  
Compared with Thine, 'twas Ruins when Erect.   

This Model would renew fierce Nero's frown,  
That Murderer of his Mother, and his Town:  
Striving to sample this, he soon would find  
His artless Platform, fall so far behind,  
The Furies would award Him equal Doom,  
For building up, as for his burning ROME.   

The Adverse French and Spaniards here accord,  
Agreeing Praises, to this Work afford,  
And pity those, whose commendations fall  
Or on their LOOURE, or ESCURIAL.  
But waving Them, send Artists here to see  
Not what those Great Courts are, but aught to be.  
(Gay pompous Cottages! and sit alone  
To slumber out a Life in, and be gone.)   

Near Earth's deep Centre the Foundation lies,  
While the Roose bids Good Morning to the Skies.  
Whose unsupported Arch floats in the Air,  
As if no Building but a Bird hung there.  
As Mahomet's Tomb contends the ground to press,  
But seems restrained below, by emptiness:  
Bid no attractive Agent buoy up all,  
Without His Epilepsy He must fall,  
And his blind Votaries who under kneel,  
The Fatal pressure of their Prophet feel;  
The Tomb had chrusht, and covered 'em ere this,  
And been Their Monument, as well as His.  
These Arches swim aloft, secure from harm,  
Without the fraud of his Magnetic charm,  
Where once arrived, themselves Protect,  
Instructed by mysterious Architect:  
Angles to Angles, Squares to Squares apply,  
Each stone is Loadstone to his next Ally.  
As in the Orbs no groaning Pillar bears  
The pressure of the self-susteined Spheres,  
But all the Axis (Grave Astronomers Theme)  
Is firm Imagination, but not Beam;  
Whose each extreme fixed to some phansyed Pole,  
Means but due Contiguation of the Whole.  
So here, while parts to equal parts resort,  
They their own Beauty are and own Support.  
Yet as by chance contrived and not by wit,  
They seem, but dropped down aptly, and fallen fit.   

Here no created weight or more or less  
Can the strong sinews of the Arch depress,  
But fearless, all attempts she disappoints,  
By the secure contexture of her Joints.  
Her Burdens numberless, breed no mishaps,  
But close the spaces, and endear the Gaps.   

Huge rockey-Mountains up small Pulleys call,  
And strongly rivet by their Gradual fall:  
Vast Trunks of Oak they 〈◊〉, and by the proof  
Of slender Cords entice them to the Roof.  
So the ponderous Eagle rises by degrees,  
When with undaunted eyes the Sun she sees,  
And by like Stratagems she does advance,  
Him, and his Rays stairs out of countenance.  
Against the Clouds her mounting Crests she flings,  
Born by the frail Foundation of her wings.   

Unless screwed up, wedged in, and mortised thus;  
The slightest Lark, would die a Daedalus,  
Dashed 'gainst rude Rocks, would tumbling fall down right,  
Bemoaning the Ambition of her flight.  
But Air crowds close to Air, to screen off Fate  
From her aspiring and Harmonious weight.  
This Managery doth not on Toil rely,  
But Dissonant materials Harmony:  
men's Brawney Arms, and Shoulders suffer less;  
On Mathematics Consort lies the stress.  
Amphion when to raise His Thebes He falls,  
His Lute feels all the labour of the Walls.   

Dressed in their Leaves, and bark they once did bow,  
Trees folllowed Orpheus then, but Timber now,  
Squared, and cut out, proportioned, smoothed, and filled,  
This Art the Wood obeys, His, but the wild.   

Bold Archimedes, if these Arts he knew,  
He might displace the World, and place it new:  
Fixing his powerful Engine, sure to bear,  
Upon some solid Nothing, in no where.  
No cunning is so nice, no Art so Rare,  
Except those Arts alone that are taught there.  
To some less wary in Distinguishing,  
The bare Name Theatre depraves the Thing;  
Thither they come entangled in their fears,  
Of meeting Savage Objects! Panthers, Bears,  
Wolves, Lions, Tigers! These thus prepossessed  
Expect some Splendid Desert at the best,  
afric immured! for such they have been told,  
Were all the Ancient Theatres, of Old.  
But all the sights in this Majestic Frame  
Are like the Spectators, Tractable and Tame.  
No mangled Gladiators here intrude;  
No Tragic, nor no Mimic interlude:  
But all the hours they solemnly beguile,  
And ne'er excite our sorrow, nor our smile.  
The Doctors of all Faculties, and Arts,  
Outshine their Scarlet with their Radiant Parts.  
Few hours in gravest State of questions spent,  
Opponents brandish Dint of Argument:  
Till in subjection to Victorious brains,  
The captive Adversary sighs in chains.   

Of all the Statelies' in this Orbs dispose, 
The Divinity Act.   
The choicest Canton is reserved for those,  
Who prove all Praise even to this Theatre lent,  
Most due to that above the Firmament.  
And such the sacred Sons of Aaron be,  
Who would fain confute us into Eternity.   

If some in heat of Disputation stray,  
From Saint Ignatius to Loyala,  
Then the profound Professor soon recalls,  
By Fathers, Schools, Councils, Originals.  
Such was the Grave, the Primitive Decree;  
But some Divines are now o'th' Livery;  
Religion's Artifice; and Shop-men plied,  
Not to gain Proselytes, but Custom by't;  
Their Sermons sell their Wares: who can invade  
With stoutest Lungs, O! He's the Man of Trade.  
Yet, 'mongst the Wise, or worthy, these Tricks fall,  
Produce three Gentry-Juglers and take All.   

Next these, the Learned AEsculapian. Train 
The Physic Act.   
Seek to retrieve their lost Rights, (Oh! in vain)  
'Gainst Bills, and posting Empirics they inveigh,  
And prove, no Pestilence devours like they  
In pension with the Graves; their surest Trust  
(The Serpent's curse) is, Thou shalt eat the Dust.   

Next, civil Sanctions guarding Man from Man, 
The Civil Law Act.   
Rich Treasures? left us by Justinian,  
Codes, Pandects, Digests, set a shore to Pride,  
And wrong through all the World. Who can decide  
Which of the Two have more Extensive Claws,  
The Roman Eagles, or the Roman Laws?   

Throngs of Learned Youth fill up the lower space, 
The Regent Masters Act.   
Hoods, whose Reverse are Silks their shoulders Grace,  
Shoulders, which three Years since did only claim  
Less-graduate Furs, the Ermines of the Lamb.  
These seven long Years the Liberal Arts obey,  
At seven Years end, as Liberal as they.  
And (what's in other Lands a wondrous thing,)  
Subjects without the Nonage of their KING.  
Created Regent's all: and such They be,  
Want but a Sceptre for Prince-Regency.  
For when their Great, or lesser Meetings call,  
(Like General Councils, or Provincial)  
They ratify all Rejections, and all Choice,  
By the uncontrolled Empire of their Voice.   

But, least Learned Intricates too long perplex,  
The Attention of the Lady-gentle Sex. 
The Music Act.   
Some select Orators brisk, and witty fire  
With their ingenious Reach bends to conspire;  
And Native-languaged gains this Preference,  
Music, less Music is than Eloquence.  
While Rolling Organs, Viol, warbling Lute  
So swift, so sweet through th' ravished Audience shoot,  
Intelligences lend astonished Ears,  
And shame their Musick-more-pretending Spheres.   

What Structure else but Prides it to reveal  
Treasures? which Bashful this would fain conceal:  
As Pearls were modest grown, Coy to be found,  
Shading their choicest Glories under ground. 
The Printing Office under the Theatre.   
Thus Indian KINGS Exchequers heap up Store:  
But in their Mines lies Infinitely more.  
The Sacred Oracles inspired Lungs  
Above, all Truths; Below they speak all Tongues.  
Spain, Gascoin, Florence, Smyrna, and the Rhine  
May taste their Language there, though not the Wine.  
The Jew, Mede, Elomite, Arabian, Crete,  
In these deep Vault their wand'ring Ideoms meet,  
And to compute, are in Amazement hurled  
How long since OXFORD has been all the World!   

'tis Generous to Assist; They merit Praise,  
Who contribute such Mighty works to raise.  
All that confer, to set Lost Paul's to Right,  
Heaven that Rewadrs their Pounds, regards their Mite,   

Now Nature's self seems stinted; now when stuff  
To cut out Souls is scarce allowed enough,  
To Your free Make are such Ingredients gone,  
As may suffice to Insoul the Nation.  
This numberless Expense You disimburse,  
Without Associate, or Confederate Purse.  
So, have I seen one spacious Beech contain  
A vast Dimension o'er a Verdant Plain.  
She warned the Trees, their vain approach forbear,  
Myself am straightened, (Trees than Vocal were)  
My Root, and Trunk is large, Head broad, and High;  
Seven hundred Ewes to my Protection fly:  
And when beneath my leaves those flocks retire,  
A more commodious Lare none can desire;  
I lend them Lodging, Grazing, and Defence,  
To all their wants a full Convenience.  
If part of these under your branches browse,  
Who shall address to my Remaining Boughs:  
This Plain is my Demesnes, while I survive,  
In yonder Vacant Copse, ye all may Thrive.  
Where grateful Lambs, who your fair shades ,  
Will Dance, and Sing their Tributary Bleat.  
Some Frames are Fairly raised but to Abuse;  
As Popes Themselves establish decent stews.  
O, then what Verse ought to Eternize You,  
Who build to Beauty, and to Virtue too?   

May thrice three hundred Prosperous years be spread,  
And thrice three Hundred Blisses on Thy head,  
Thy Head! who with Thy Bounty dost surprise,  
Greater than most have Bounty to Advise.   

May Thy Styles swell, Thy numerous Sees disperse,  
Be sole Diocesan o'th' Universe!  
Till Thou hast space obtained, and Treasure won,  
To do, all Thou wouldst do, and see it done.   

Then having finished Deeds so Good so high,  
Thy next Archbishopric must be the sky.   
FINIS.   

LONDON, Printed for C. S. Anno Domini, MDCLXXV.